


antivan poetry

by bestie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestie/pseuds/bestie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'What’s an <em>elf</em> doing down here?’ Stepping in nug shit, getting mauled by spiders and slapped by the tentacles of a blighted broodmother, and let’s not forget being given a <em>maul</em> for putting grand King Behlen on the throne. A <em>maul!</em>”</p><p>-- drabble-y things bout my canon warden and zevran.</p>
            </blockquote>





	antivan poetry

**I.  
** It is the opposite of cold in the Deep Roads, but Zevran still cannot help the (sadly unpleasant) shiver that runs down his back as Alistair puts out the fire for the night. Besides the faint glow of Shale’s crystals, they are left in utter darkness. And it’s not as if Zevran isn’t  _used_ to darkness— far from it, in fact —but he cannot seem to shake a strong feeling of unease, which only leaves him feeling more uneasy because he is not normally one to feel like this.

 **II.**  
Irthall is not the most quiet person by a long shot, and what he considers whispering most would consider  _speaking_ , so when his voice calls for him in the darkness, softer than Zevran has perhaps ever heard it, his heart almost leaps into his throat. Shale notices this as well, both Irthall’s voice and the way Zevran tenses up. “The painted elf is very worried about the Grey Warden,” she deadpans. “Rightfully so, perhaps. That cheese looked a bit moldy.”

 **III.**  
Zevran finds himself setting up his bedroll beside Irthall’s far quicker than he’d ever admit to. He doesn’t sleep yet, even if his eyes  _are_ drooping with exhaustion, because he’s too busy listening to Irthall whisper stories of his life in his clan, of the fresh air and wide, open spaces they’re both craving right now; he doesn’t sleep yet because he’s too busy pulling Irthall into his arms and murmuring Antivan poetry to fill the silence when Irthall’s words break off and kissing away the tears that roll down his cheeks in warm streaks.

 **IV.**  
When they’re all up and moving again, Alistair and Irthall take up the front. Zevran can hear them deep in conversation (‘Loghain’, ‘archdemon’, and ‘treaties’ are all words that continuously pop up), and he knows he shouldn’t be listening in, but he can’t force himself to tune anything out. When the conversation turns to the taint and their Callings, Zevran loudly suggests they all take a break to nibble at their rations. Irthall locks eyes with him, questioning, and Zevran quickly looks away.

 **V.**  
"Creators, I was not built for the things we had to do down there," Irthall says when their feet are touching grass and snow and they’re breathing in air that makes their lungs sting in a wonderful way. “‘What’s an  _elf_  doing down  _here_?’ Stepping in nug shit, getting mauled by spiders and slapped by the tentacles of a blighted broodmother, and let’s not forget being given a  _maul_  for putting grand King Behlen on the throne. A  _maul!_ ”

Zevran and the rest of the group watch as Irthall stomps over to a vendor, slams the maul down onto their stand and exchanges heated words with the human, and then stomps just as angrily back to the group with a large handful of sovereigns. The former Crow can only chuckle and shake his head.

 **VI.**  
"Nice to see you’re back, my dear Warden," Zevran says with a smirk, locking eyes and fingers with the other elf as they walk. "I do hope you will be this angry when we set up camp for the night. Three weeks without you underneath me, or on top of me, or--"

Irthall snorts, bumping shoulders with Zevran. “Shut it, you. We go down into the Deep Roads for almost three weeks and all we get is a bunch of troops and a lousy maul. Believe me, I’ll be angry for  _days_.” And then he pauses, the look on his face unreadable as he seems to stare right into Zevran's soul. His eyes dart behind them, to where the rest of the group has fallen behind slightly. When he decides they all seem sufficiently distracted enough, he quickly leans in and kisses Zevran on the cheek. "Nice to see you back as well, ma vhenan," he says quietly, the tips of his ears going red, and then he sprints ahead to get some distance between the two of them.

Zevran would never admit to his façade slipping, but just for a moment it did. A grin (so wide and embarrassing he reserved it for only when the two of them were alone) curls his lips even further upwards and a laugh full of relief bubbles up from his throat; he catches up to the Warden,  _his_ Warden, and tugs him by the wrist back to his side.


End file.
